Inverse
by Jessa4865
Summary: Carter is forced to witness Reese in the hands of the FBI. 3 parts total. Carter/Reese
1. Chapter 1

Inverse  
Jezyk  
Disclaimer: Not mine  
Spoilers: Through Shadow Box

Part One

She'd seen it before, a million times over, and she'd never agreed with it. Not in Afghanistan. Not with evidence-proven terrorists. Definitely not with a friend. And unlike Afghanistan, this time she couldn't say a damn word, couldn't voice her disproval in the slightest, couldn't storm out of the room, couldn't even frown. She had to stand there with a smile on her face and discuss the next approach should the current form of torture fail to produce any actionable intelligence.

There was too much riding on this to let her feelings show.

Though she couldn't sit by him in that room with the thermostat jacked up to well over ninety degrees or shiver next to him when they lowered it to near freezing, nor could she feel the pain of the 150-watt spotlight shining in his eyes, she could be a witness to it. She could refuse to give herself the comfort of sleep or even closing her eyes, deny herself the food and water that might give her enough strength to withstand it. And she could refuse to leave, except for her shifts watching the other innocent - at least of this bullshit Donnelly had made up - men suffer the same punishment. She could be with him, as close as she could physically be.

It was all she could do, all she was able to do without putting both of them in more danger. So she suffered along with him, her anguish mental to his physical, sharing his pain the best she could.

She knew that he would sooner die than crack, but she wished he could see the bigger picture. For once, his understanding of the situation was less than hers. Any other time she might have admired the way he could withstand anything they threw at him without flinching, but now she recognized that his ability to remain steadfast was likely to be his undoing.

The rest of the men would crack under the pressure; one of the four already had and was trying to argue his way into a plea of attempted armed robbery. The fact that John would still be standing when the rest of the dominos fell would give away his CIA training, would reveal that he was in fact the man they were looking for.

There were two relatively good things so far, things she had to keep reminding herself of to keep from begging for mercy for her friend. The first was that John's fingerprints hadn't matched any in the system. She'd been there, run them herself for the second time, this time fully expecting a list a mile long of crimes that would at first glance make him appear to be a truly terrible man. Finch had to have something to do with that, probably having hacked all the law enforcement databases to erase any record of John's exploits. The other good - rather, not hideously bad - thing was that Donnelly was nearly out of his mind. He was too focused on the idea that he finally had his man, though he still had no idea which one of them it was, to think clearly.

He hadn't yet thought of offering them all deals to see who would take it. He hadn't yet realized that the last one to break was the one he was looking for. He hadn't paid any attention to the tears that pricked her eyes when he prattled on about all the tricks he had up his sleeve to force the man in the suit to show himself.

She knew that they could use that razor-focus of Donnelly's to their advantage, but unfortunately, John was too absorbed by withstanding this torture to realize it. She could see it in his eyes, in the emotionless, empty stare he'd fixed on the mirror over a day earlier; he'd mentally shut down, his trained response that would allow him to survive.

Except that he wasn't in an overseas prison where there was no line that wouldn't be crossed. No one was about to pull out jumper cables or acid. John was waiting for that, had steeled himself for that eventuality, had resigned himself to dying right where he was. The FBI task force was playing fast and loose with the rules, but she knew she wouldn't be the only one in the room who would object to such tactics.

His survival depended on her the way he often depended on Finch to pull a rabbit out of the hat. She needed to think for him, to manipulate the system he was trapped in until he could make his way out.

Her stomach growled as she watched Donnelly helping himself to a fried chicken dinner, complete with mashed potatoes and a beer. He was sitting across the table from John, a demented smirk on his face as he enjoyed food, a basic need John and the others who were each facing an agent, had been denied. She was free to come and go as she pleased, and had denied herself food each and every time it had been offered in her quiet display of solidarity.

Even as she stood there, her stomach knotting in displeasure, her eyes focused on Donnelly, watching the way he bit into the chicken leg, realizing how barbaric he looked tearing the meat from the bone the way a lion would do with a gazelle. She couldn't have eaten then if someone had paid her; it was all she could do not to vomit.

She tapped on the glass, Donnelly's head whipping over to look at her, John's eyes never wavering from whatever memory he was seeing.

To say Donnelly was unhappy to pack up his meal and return to the observation room was an understatement, but she was ready.

"Look, I know you guys have your methods and believe me, I've seen them work on the most resolved of men, but I have an idea." It was the same line, the same thought she'd fed everyone in the Army. She'd been in intelligence, perhaps the worst place for someone as empathetic as her to be, but she knew there were other ways. She'd been far more successful getting information out of suspects, in the Army and in the NYPD, by befriending them. And these men - especially John - deserved a break.

Donnelly's eyes narrowed, but he nodded at her to continue.

"These guys are used to you and your men, your tactics, they've shut down. None of them have said a word for hours." She offered a soft smile as though to provide an example as she spoke. "Maybe it's time for my good cop to your bad."

"They won't be expecting a pretty face after three days of this." He nodded, his eyes lighting up once again. "You're right, a friend is exactly what they need."

She held her breath, biting back the urge to cheer, forcing herself to stare expectantly. "Who do you like? Where should I start?" She couldn't start with John, especially not if he left the decision up to her, but it would be best if he chose. There would be less for him to read into when he eventually got his wits about him again.

Donnelly shrugged, his eyes lighting on John for a moment, then back at her. "Take your pick, Agent," he grinned at her for a moment, "Carter. Personally I like contestant number three." His fingers tapped the file of one of the other men and she let out her breath.

"Ok, I'm going to make a quick stop and I'll see you there."

She took a Pepsi and a bag of chips to the redhead, wondering how the hell no one else had yet realized that this light haired man, though a height match for John, was absolutely not the dark haired man they'd caught on camera. The other two were painfully obviously not even close as well, both men shorter and skinnier than John. She told herself that was due only to the fact that she knew the answer and tried to remember what a shock it had been the first time she'd seen his face clean-shaven.

She saw the relief in the stranger's eyes when he realized she wasn't there to taunt him with the snack, but to offer it to him. She saw some of his bravado melt away instantly as he raised the drink to his lips. She went through the motions, telling him she was exhausted and worried about her son who she hadn't seen in three days and how she hoped they'd get the information they needed soon so everyone could move on. She focused on the bank, on the crime all four men had been caught committing, occasionally throwing a curve and asking about John's history. Luckily, it was far from her best work and the man was a seasoned criminal, if she read him correctly, and so she left the room forty-five minutes later with her head hanging in faux disappointment.

She moved on to the next guy, the one who'd been wearing a tie, who'd actually made eye contact with her when Donnelly asked her if she recognized any of them. Rather than a snack, which would only serve to further torture her, she switched off the light shining in his eyes. The same approach, the same questions, but rather than relief, this bastard was spewing venom about her and her heritage and how if he had his way he'd kill them all. She only wasted thirty minutes with him before she left, knowing she was dangerously close to decking him, but trying to make it seem fair when she would stay with John as long as humanly possible.

She hated to see an innocent man imprisoned, but if she had to pick someone to throw under the bus when the time came, she'd choose him. Her damned soul for John's life. Not ideal, but it would all be straightened out eventually, when the CIA caught wind of it and proved that man was not John Reese, so he wouldn't suffer nearly as badly as John would. John would be killed, this man released. It was the best she could do under the circumstances.

Finally, she found herself entering the room with John. He didn't look at her when she came in. She couldn't even be sure he knew anyone was there, let alone who she was. He was still staring blankly at nothing, his body shivering in response to the cold. It was the worst for him, she knew without asking. The man always wore a winter coat early in the fall and late into the spring, his collar turned up against cold she knew he was only imagining. He didn't like to be cold, maybe the product of having spent too many years in the desert during his Army days, maybe the result of having grown up in the cold Northwest.

She headed straight for the thermostat and turned it up a little higher than she would have found comfortable, just to give him a little bit of comfort for as long as she could. Then she sat down across from him, denying her desire to meet his eyes or reach for his hand. To keep up the pretense, she asked some general questions, assuring him that she was trying to help him out the same as she'd tried with the other men. There was no way to come straight out and tell him that breaking was the only way to exonerate himself, so instead she alluded to how everyone else was cracking and spilling what they knew and claiming that the best deal was going to whoever gave up the best information, hoping he could read the message in her eyes.

She lingered as long as she could, fearing that she was giving herself away, yet desperate for some kind of sign from him that he at least recognized her. Finally, she threw caution to the wind, trying something she hadn't with the other two men. She moved around the table, squatting down next to his chair, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look her in the eye as she begged him to "give us something."

Her heart nearly stopped when he looked at her, his eyes wide and unfocused. He moved as quickly as she'd always known him to, grabbing her throat a little too tightly, lifting her and pinning her to the wall in one swift move. She didn't even have to fake the fear that washed over her face, nor the instinctive response of clawing at his hand. He leaned in, his body flush against hers, his mouth at her ear, and for an alarming moment, it was desire rather than fear that caused her to tremble.

"Please let me go," she shrieked to cover herself when she turned toward him and lowered her voice to a whisper. "None of the others are CIA trained to take this, you'll give yourself away." She knew that it was all for show, that he'd been looking for an opportunity to give her a message. She trusted him. Completely. Even with his hand clamped around her throat.

His eyes were cold and hard as he continued to hold her, his expression giving nothing away to anyone who might review the footage, but there was a crack, an opening he allowed her to see, proving that he was completely aware of who she was and what she was putting on the line for him. His hand eased up, his touch feather-light against her skin, his thumb moving to caress her jaw where it would be hidden from the camera. "This will go bad, don't give them anything." His voice was a whisper, but commanding as ever.

He'd barely finished speaking when the team came rushing through the door, pulling John away and dropping him with repeated blows to the head and abdomen.

The idea that she'd been assaulted gave her cover for the way she whined when they escorted her from the room. The plan had backfired on her, the precious moments with him only making her miss his presence more; the knowledge that he hadn't shut down the way she'd thought only making her ache more.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

Donnelly offered her the chance to go home. Not that she hadn't been free to leave before that, but now she had his blessing and the support of all the task force, several members of which were chomping at the bit for another chance to pummel John. She shook her head, assured Donnelly that she was fine, though she was anything but. At least now she had a perfect excuse to stand at the one-way mirror and stare at him, she had a valid reason to narrow her focus to him.

The two agents who'd been left in the room with John pulled him from the floor and set him in the chair. John didn't flinch, didn't make a move to wipe at the blood dripping from his nose, just sat there and let the wounds on his nose and lips bleed onto his cuffed hands. Donnelly listened as the agents whispered something in his ear and then rejoined John.

"You just made a huge mistake, attacking Agent Carter like that. She was the only friend you had here."

John's eyes slowly left the mirror and turned to Donnelly, piquing everyone's curiosity. It was the first reaction of any sort from him, besides the attack on her. He bared his teeth in a menacing smile. "I don't have any friends."

She squeezed her eyes closed, mostly in pain at the statement she feared he honestly believed, but also to thank god he seemed to have listened to what she had said. He was hopefully going to give her the benefit of the doubt because she was privy to information that he didn't have. She'd offered him a tactical advantage and she had to hope he would recognize that.

Donnelly shook his head. "You know, I was really focusing on someone else until you did that, but see, the guy we're looking for here has been gunning for Agent Carter for over a year now."

Rather than the blank look she'd become accustomed too, John was watching Donnelly pace the room, in his eyes a hatred so intense it was almost palpable. She thought of all those playful smiles he'd shot at her, his eyes light and friendly when they'd met to compare notes.

Donnelly stopped directly in front of John and leaned over the table, blocking her view. "It's really a shame for you. I like Agent Carter." There was no warning, just his fist raring back and delivering a blow so hard blood sprayed into an arc on the wall beside John's chair.

She clamped her hand over her mouth to hold back the scream. He'd warned her this was coming, even as he'd brought it on himself. He'd told her to keep quiet, trying to protect her as always.

Rather than accept the punishment and return to silence, John smirked and stared at Donnelly even as his eye began to swell. "Don't blame you. Wouldn't mind hitting that myself."

Her gut clenched, every fiber of her being crying out in anger and humiliation, even as she told herself it wasn't real. That wasn't John talking about her like that. He'd taken on the persona of the other men, the hired killers who'd been sent to kill Abby Monroe and Shane Coleman, men who wouldn't think twice about insulting a woman like that.

"You want to play, tough guy?" Donnelly lunged across the table and grabbed John's collar. "You're off the grid in here. Everyone who knows about this operation is in this building. No one knows we have you. Your handlers aren't coming to save you."

John's face remained blank until Donnelly let go. "Fuck you."

"How about we start with something easy? What's your name?"

John's eyes locked on hers through the glass and she could have sworn he knew he was looking right at her. He only spoke when Donnelly stepped in front of him again. "Fuck you."

Donnelly turned away, staring toward the mirror for a moment while gathering his thoughts, finally he seemed to calm slightly. "We can keep you here forever."

John shrugged one shoulder and folded his arms over his chest. "Beats going to prison as a rat."

"You could die down here and no one would ever know."

He took a moment to glance around the room, but again, John merely shrugged, though she saw the familiar amused spark in his eyes as he replied. "I've been worse places. What difference does it make?"

Those words hurt as much as his comment about fucking her had. She'd seen hints of it before, his carelessness a sure sign that he really didn't give a shit about dying, but mouthing off to the FBI agent who was holding him was asking for trouble, especially since he had no backup. Finch wasn't about to come to the rescue, Fusco probably had no idea what the fuck was going on, and her hands were tied.

And John had no idea how angry Donnelly was that his brilliant plan to ensnare his prey hadn't worked as expected. Though she doubted any of Donnelly's plans ever worked out considering the utter failures of the two she'd been a part of, it had been news to him. While the four men had been transported in an armored truck, Donnelly had ridden in the SUV with her and two other agents, cursing and slamming his hands into the door and seats and windows all the way. It had been quite a change from the man who'd always seemed almost too mild-mannered to be in law enforcement and it should have served as a warning to her.

Hell, she'd been too fucking scared for John to pay much attention to the man having a tantrum in the seat next to her.

Donnelly snarled as he headed for the door. "Let's see how long it takes you to change your mind about talking." He slammed the door behind him, but rather than coming into the observation room where she was, he headed toward another interrogation room. She relaxed her tensed muscles, thinking he was just making the rounds again.

But barely a moment later, one of the other agent's phones beeped. He grinned as he read it and then elbowed the man next to him. "Donnelly wants us to encourage some cooperation."

It took all the strength she had left to not intervene when the pair walked into the room with smug grins on their faces. She watched as John took one look and knew why they were there. She saw the briefest moment of human weakness when he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.

She couldn't make herself watch when the blows started to fall; instead she turned away in disgust, unable to block out the sounds in any way that wouldn't reveal them both.

When Donnelly returned, he carried two cups of coffee. He sipped from one and offered her the other. "You must be getting tired. Caffeine's the only thing keeping me going." He looked through the glass and assessed the abuse going on within. "Caffeine and finally getting some god damned justice."

She reached for the coffee in an attempt to keep up the charade, but as her hand closed around the hot cup, she thought of all those times she'd met with John, shared coffee and conversation while he brought her up to speed. He was probably desperate for coffee himself, likely had a worse headache from lack of caffeine than she did. Her hand released without her permission, splattering coffee all over her and Donnelly.

"Shit, I'm sorry."

He chuckled. "Maybe you need sleep more than you need coffee." He snapped his fingers and a young agent hurried over with napkins to clean up the mess. Ignoring everything, Donnelly nodded toward the glass. "He say anything yet?"

"This isn't legal." Her words were choked and she knew it was a mistake to give them voice, but she couldn't stop herself. "You haven't charged them with anything. You're just holding them and torturing them and you have no right. Three of these men are innocent."

Donnelly fixed his glare on her. "Need I remind you that we caught all four of these men red-handed robbing a bank?"

"Merton Watts is an investment bank. There was no cash for them to steal." She bit her lip when she heard a particularly loud grunt from John whose assault continued behind her. "Coerced confessions are inadmissible."

Donnelly chuckled. "I never would have brought you on board had I known you were a bleeding heart. I thought you knew how to get the job done."

"I know how to get the job done without breaking any laws. I can look at myself in the mirror and I can sleep at night. You're no better than any of these men, using your power like this." She tried to keep her voice civil even as spat the words at him. She promised herself she could pretend that it was all about the law, about covering their asses, about following the rules. But she knew people would start to catch on to her objections as soon as they got some sleep.

"This is national security, Detective Carter. At least one of these men is a terrorist."

"What the hell are you talking about?" If there was one thing no one could possibly pin on John it was terrorism.

"The man in the suit is a vigilante. He kills, he wounds, he attacks, he follows no rules, he answers to no one."

She shook her head. "He's a vigilante, yes, but that's not a terrorist." Her eyes widened as she caught on. "But as long as you claim they're suspected terrorists you can hold them indefinitely."

Donnelly grinned. "Now you're catching on! Don't worry, there won't be any blow back on you. The only thing you'll need to consider is which region you'll want to report to when you're offered a position." He took a sip of his coffee and stared through the glass like he was watching a sunset. "And you'll be offered one, provided you prove that you can stomach what needs to happen to get the job done."

She nodded thoughtfully, pretending to consider his words as she moved toward the door. "Excuse me, I need to use the restroom."

She only had a moment to act and so she took full advantage of it, storming into the interrogation room and pulling the man back who was about to land another blow on John's bruised face. "Stop it! He can't tell you anything if you beat him to death."

The two men eyed each other as John hung limply between them. The one she'd pulled back reached out, lifting John's chin. "One more chance. Who are you working with? Who are you protecting?"

She wasn't even sure he was still conscious until his eyes locked with hers. They remained there until the next blow fell, the one that finally, mercifully rendered him unconscious. It was only then that the men dropped him and left the room, already discussing how they were going to proceed with their next victim.

Donnelly came in, slamming the door once again and getting in her face. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Look at him! He can't talk if he doesn't have any teeth left." It was lame and she knew it, but she couldn't think. Not when all she wanted to do was crawl over to him and hold him in her arms.

"Then we'll get him a pen."

The crack struck her as such a John-like line that she actually smiled. In another situation, she could easily hear him making the same remark.

Donnelly nodded, a smile back on his face. "Damn, Carter, you play this good cop thing so well you really had me going. Nice job." He patted her on the shoulder.

She followed him out the door, her smile having turned into a grimace, hoping Donnelly couldn't tell the difference. "I'm going to catch a quick nap. Call me if there are any developments." She walked as quickly as she could to the ladies room and locked herself inside. Unable to move any further, she fell back against the door, her legs folding as the sobs racked her body.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

The exhaustion, both physical and mental, was finally getting to her. Her tears had ceased, probably because she was too dehydrated to make more. She remained on the tile floor, her back against the door, thinking about how filthy the floor was and how she'd never normally do such a thing as sit on it, but she was far too tired to move.

A rest, no matter how well deserved, wasn't in the cards though. Angry voices in the hallway demanded her attention. She quickly wiped at her face, resolved to blame her red eyes on being tired, and followed the sounds.

One of them belonged to Donnelly, who was vehemently protesting something. Given what she'd witnessed in the previous three days, she was automatically inclined to agree with whoever the other guy was, but she couldn't be so quick to judge. The other man, a sharply-dressed older man with thick white, overly styled hair, could easily be with the CIA.

Joining the group of agents gathered in the doorway, she listened as Donnelly got ripped a new one for breaking protocol, filing false documents, lying to his superiors, and, last but certainly not least in her mind, unlawful imprisonment. Before she could quite get her wits about her, the older man - her new hero - approached the group, demanding the immediate release of the prisoners. Except for boot camp, she'd never seen people jump to obey anyone the way those agents did at his command.

She grabbed one of them. "Who is he?"

The man's eyes widened as though she'd committed some sort of unforgiveable faux pas. "The bureau section chief?"

"Oh, right." She looked at the way the agents continued to scurry like rats to follow the man who'd called an all-hands meeting suddenly. "He's pretty important?"

"When he comes with direct orders from the director." He hurried off then, not wanting to be the last man to show up.

The director. Of the FBI. Damn. How the fuck had he found out?

She lagged behind the group, wanting to help John who'd undoubtedly be rather confused at his sudden release. But to do so would give them both away and she knew John was well-versed in protecting himself, so she followed the group and trusted John to handle himself.

She listened with half an ear while the director's minion launched into a diatribe about being disappointed in the agents and their behavior, particularly with Donnelly's judgment, but also with the other agents for neither stopping him nor turning him in. She'd been on the receiving end of this sort of lecture more than once in her career and since she was in no way responsible for this fuck-up, she didn't bother paying attention.

Instead her eyes drifted back to the hallway, her heart in her throat when she saw John slowly, painfully making his way toward the stairs to the exit. She wanted to run to him, to offer her shoulder to help support his battered body. As desperate as he undoubtedly was to leave, she saw him hesitate, watched him turn slowly as though he felt her stare. He met her eyes, his expression as much relieved as he was worried. He didn't want to get her in trouble, but she knew he was happy to see her. He offered her the slightest nod before turning away and continuing on his way. She kept staring after him long after he was gone.

"Excuse me, agent, am I boring you?"

It was the silence that she noticed rather than his words, realizing he was talking to her when no one else responded. She swallowed hard, unsure what to say. Mercifully, it was Donnelly who came to her rescue.

"Detective Carter is on a temporary assignment from the NYPD." He looked like he wanted to say more, but wisely shut up.

"You're not FBI?"

She shook her head slowly, remembering Donnelly's assertion that she would likely be offered a position. She wanted to laugh at the thought, considering how terribly this operation had gone she was fairly certain she didn't have to worry about apologetically refusing it. "No, sir." She hoped being polite would help keep the information from getting back to her boss.

He pointed at the hallway. "Then you don't need to be here."

She almost kissed the man. Instead, she happily raced to follow John's footsteps. She shoved through the front door onto the unfamiliar street. Donnelly had declared that they couldn't stay in the city for safety reasons. Now that she knew the entire operation was being run off the books she understood why he couldn't show up at any of the local field offices.

Unfortunately, that left Jos to try and guess where John would go for refuge in bumblefuck, New Jersey. Without a car, her search was severely limited. And if John wasn't too badly injured, a start in the wrong direction would be an irrecoverable error in terms of her finding him. She tried to think like he would, though she realized just what the hell was ever going on in that man's head was well beyond her reach. But he was injured, on foot, and he didn't have a phone. He'd head for the city, looking for some way to contact Finch.

Finch. Fuck. Why hadn't she thought of him sooner? Knowing him, she figured he'd probably had a GPS tracker of some sort implanted in John's skin. Although the idea of calling Finch seemed brilliant, her phone call was greeted with the out-of-service recording. Not that she could blame him since it had been the phones that allowed the FBI to track them. She knew Fusco wouldn't know anything either, so she didn't bother calling. John was the only one who would know how to get in touch with the paranoid man.

She hurried her steps as she shivered against the cold. John was in no shape to be out fending for himself. After what he'd been through he deserved a vacation. Though she wouldn't be able to provide that, she could give him a break, a chance to close his eyes knowing that she would keep hers open, a repayment for all the nights she'd gone to sleep knowing that John would keep her safe.

As she crossed onto the third block, she began to wonder if her search was futile. A grid search with one person and a moving target was doomed. But as she turned to the left to check down an alley, she saw him. He was staggering crookedly, leaning against the bricks to keep himself upright. If his condition wasn't revealed by his appearance, it certainly was by his pace. He was barely moving, looking like he was about to drop at any moment, obviously using every last drop of his strength to delay the inevitable.

She jogged the last twenty feet separating them, reaching for his arm, intending to lift it over her shoulders.

Rather than his easy grin and teasing eyes, he winced and jerked away, flattening his back against the wall, his eyes wide and scared, at least as wide and scared as one of them could be with the way it had swollen halfway closed.

She swallowed hard and willed herself not to cry. "John, it's me. You're ok."

It took him a moment to focus on her, a moment longer to breathe. Then his whole body sagged further, the adrenaline rush that had kept him moving disappearing in an instant. His knees gave next, his impressive height diminishing as he slumped to the ground.

She tried to break his fall, but his pained grunt when she touched his side revealed sore, if not broken, ribs. His head flopped down, his infernal flippant comments disturbingly absent. She squatted beside him, feeling bigger than him for the first time. "John, how can we contact Finch? His phone is disconnected."

He didn't answer. He didn't look up. And when she reached out and lifted his chin, he looked confused, as though he'd already forgotten she was there. Clearly she was on her own for the time being. She'd have to take care of John until he was in better shape.

She tried to smile reassuringly at him, but seeing the man so battered and broken shook her to her core. "I'll be right back, ok?" Squeezing his hand gently, she didn't bother to tell him not to move. She knew he wasn't about to.

Night was falling, the shadows in the unfamiliar area more dangerous than the roughest area she knew. Even if the FBI agents weren't still getting blasted, she knew none of them were going to give her a car. Public transportation was obviously out.

Only one choice then. She cased four different blocks before she found an old beater, knowing it didn't have an alarm or GPS, then, with a sigh and a prayer that she wasn't going to regret it, she used her gun to shatter the window. Her heart was racing as she reached in to unlock the door, looking over her shoulders quickly before sliding into the driver's seat. It only took a heartbeat for the memories to return, the motions of hotwiring the car as familiar to her as drawing her police-issue ever was. A misspent youth finally coming in handy.

It hadn't been ten minutes when she pulled the car into the alley, finding John exactly where she'd left him. She knew dragging him up from the ground was going to hurt him, but she didn't have a choice. He wasn't able to get up on his own and she wasn't able to lift him. She tried to block out the pained sounds he was issuing, reminding herself that she was helping him in the long run.

By the time she'd dropped him into the passenger seat and retook her position behind the wheel, she felt like she'd run a marathon. The way his head lolled against the headrest, she could only imagine how he felt. Worse. He felt much worse. That was why it was ok to steal a car. Because she had to help him. Because he needed her.

It was a delicate balance, going fast enough to get out of the area before the FBI agents were released and able to see her and slow enough to avoid any local police who might get curious and discover the car was stolen. She wasn't about to drive a stolen car into New York and she knew it was best to stay off the highways, so she picked a back road and drove north.

John's eyes were drooping, but he maintained a level of alertness that she admired, considering that she couldn't stop yawning. Neither of them had slept in over three days and it wasn't safe to stay on the road. Besides the desperate need for sleep, she needed to examine John to make sure his injuries weren't too dangerous to skip medical treatment.

A dreary motor lodge looked like the best option, considering that John had no wallet and she had very little cash. Credit cards were out of the question. She registered under a fake name and hurried John into a dark, cold room. He was about to drop again as his eyes searched the room, his attempt to remain hyper-observant and ready for anything completely pathetic with the way he couldn't even stand up straight.

"Lie down, John. You need to sleep." She dropped her jacket on the chair, thinking how desperately she wanted a shower. No time for that quite yet.

"So do you." He tried to argue, even as he sunk down to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

"I need to ditch the car I stole first." Ducking into the bathroom, she filled the ice bucket with warm water and then soaked a washcloth in it. "And we need to clean you up so I can see it anything's broken."

She expected another complaint, but when she walked back into the main room, she saw why there wasn't one. John was out cold, his battered face relaxed in sleep. "Probably for the best," she sighed with a smile. "It'll hurt less this way." He wouldn't complain about her patching up his wounds either.

She hurried through it, nervous about leaving the car visible for too long. Her stomach knotted as she watched the water turn red from the blood, staining the washcloth as she wiped it from his face. In addition to the badly swollen eye, his lips had taken quite a hit and were the source of most of the blood. The pain too, apparently, because John groaned unhappily when she ran the washcloth across them, but his eyes remained closed.

She decided against prodding at his ribs yet for two reasons. First, she didn't want to wake him when he'd only just fallen asleep and second, she figured he was sensible enough to tell her if he was in real danger of dying from his injuries. Instead, she returned to the bathroom to dump out the ice bucket and toss the washcloth in the trash. She filled one of the paper cups with cold water and left it on the nightstand in case he woke up.

Sitting back on the side of the bed, she watched him for a moment. The man who'd always seemed larger than life didn't seem like superman any more. He seemed like a sad, broken man and her heart ached for him. He didn't deserve the life he'd wound up with and she wished there was something she could do to make it better. There was something, she told herself, that made his life a little easier, something she'd been doing for a year now. She was his backup, his source of information, his friend. She was there in any capacity he asked. She hoped it was enough. She hoped he'd ask if he needed more.

She hated to leave him, knowing how frightening it would be to wake up alone in his condition, but she didn't have a choice. It felt like second nature for her hand to reach out, her fingers brushing through his short hair. It felt familiar when she leaned over and pressed a soft kiss onto his forehead.

Surprised as much by the comfort she felt as by her actions, she jumped up. Time to go.

Pulling her coat back on and buttoning it up, she opened the door with a tired yawn. There'd been a pond of some sort a mile or so back. It would be a good place to dump the car. If it wasn't deep enough, she'd just abandon it in the woods and hope it wasn't discovered before they were long gone. She wasn't looking forward to the walk back in her heels, but she couldn't run the risk of having it outside the motel.

"Where are you going?"

She looked back at him, seeing the way his eyes were barely peeking open. There was something about the look in his face, which she knew she could easily blame on distortion from the swelling, that told her he hadn't just woken up. It was possible that the bruises and cuts had combined with shadows to create a look of affectionate gratitude, but she had to accept the odds of that weren't very high. He hadn't been asleep. He'd been awake while she gently washed his face, when she'd kissed him, and her actions when she'd thought he hadn't been aware had meant a great deal to him. Her cheeks flushed red. She wasn't quite ready to deal with that yet.

"The car, John. I have to get rid of the car."

"Be careful."

She nodded and turned away before he could see the tears that were welling. She hated seeing him hurt and helpless. She hated leaving him alone like this. She hated that their relationship wasn't the sort where she could hug him and tell him how much she worried about him.

Getting rid of the car turned out to be easier than she thought. Though a second look revealed that the pond was nowhere near deep enough to conceal a car, she did find a steep incline off the road that would be nearly impossible to spot. After carefully wiping down the interior, she put the car in neutral and pushed until gravity took over and pulled it out of sight.

The walk back to the motel took just over twenty minutes and though John didn't appear to have moved a muscle, she knew better than to assume he was asleep. Still, in case he was, she moved quietly, slipping off her shoes and contemplating the shower. A shower would be nice, yes, but the bed was far more inviting, and not just simply because of the man sleeping in it. That would definitely be nice too, but she was far too tired to even give it another thought.

She sat down and reached for the light, certain she'd be asleep before her head hit the pillow, but rather than flopping down and finally getting some rest, she looked over at her companion. "Are you awake?" She kept her voice soft to avoid waking him if he'd managed to sleep.

"Huh?" He blinked slowly, his voice groggy. "Oh, yeah, I'm up." Damn the man for being so light a sleeper. He moved to sit up, but she reached out and pressed her hand into his shoulder.

"No, don't, I-uh," she felt herself blushing stupidly as she nodded toward the bed. "I was going to take a nap, just wanted to make sure that was ok with you."

He looked at her blankly for a long time, so long, in fact, that she started to wonder if maybe he had a head injury and didn't understand her. But then a smile started to spread across his bruised lips, the familiar twinkle in the eye that wasn't swollen shut. "You want to sleep with me?"

She grinned despite herself, a strangled chuckle emerging that sounded like it had been so long since she laughed that she'd forgotten how. Shaking her head, she stared back at him. "Yes, I do. Sleep." When his grin didn't fade, she slapped his shoulder. "Don't get all cocky over it, I'm so tired I'd share with Fusco at this point."

Finally his face returned to its neutral expression and he nodded. "Fine with me."

She switched off the light and crawled under the covers, curling onto her side facing him, her petit frame safely on her half of the bed. She shifted around for a minute in an attempt to get comfortable, folding one arm under the thin pillow, resting the other on the bed between them. The threadbare blanket barely kept out the chill, but she was too tired to care.

Before she could sleep though, she remembered. "You know how to get in touch with Finch, right? His phone is out of service. We need to be sure it's safe for you to go back to the city."

"I'll call him in the morning."

"Remember to thank him. I'm pretty sure he's the one who lit a fire under the section chief to get you released." It felt strange to be there in the dark having a conversation with John. Strange, but good. Definitely something to think about another time, she knew, not lying there next to him.

"You broke in there, Carter."

Her heart skipped a beat as she processed his words. He knew more than she had intended for him to find out. He knew and he was calling her on it. Excuses. She needed to make them and fast. "John-"

"You almost gave yourself away. You know better. You were an Army interrogator. You've seen it before."

"Never with someone I care about." Her words came out so fast she didn't have a moment to stop them, but even as she cringed, she was glad she'd said it. Now he knew. There would be no pretending he didn't.

He was silent for a long time, but his head slowly turned toward her, the blue of his one open eye deeper than she'd ever see. "Don't ruin your life for me. I'm not worth it."

She stared back, surprised he hadn't tried to let her down easy with some we're-just-friends speech. But then she realized of course he wouldn't do that. She wouldn't have fallen for him if he was that kind of man. She offered him a smile. "I disagree."

Rather than the argument she knew he wanted to make, exhaustion won out. He smiled back at her for a moment before he finally gave into the pull of sleep.

Content that John was safe for the time being and that she wouldn't have to worry about him, she let sleep descend around her as well. She was warm and safe and so was John. All in all, life was good. When she awoke in the middle of the night to find John's fingers entwined with hers, she decided life was very good. She snuggled closer, keeping their hands joined as he'd left them, moving her head next to his, pressing her face into his neck. Lying next to him, she felt a sense of comfort, of warmth, of acceptance, of love that she'd never even believed could exist.

She'd thought she was protecting him from Donnelly and the FBI, but once again, she found that he'd saved her. One of these days, she promised herself, she was going to have to thank him properly.

~end~


End file.
